The Children
by Ansuz
Summary: At the end of the world, Slade and Robin share an unexpected conversation. An insight into Slade's elusive character and a darker reason for his obsession with a worthy apprentice. Oneshotish
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Not mine and I make no money. :( Wah.

This little ficlit is a 'what if?' I roughly based Slade on his comic incarnation. For those who don't know, Slade Wilson was in the army, got superpowers, became a mercenary. Inevitably, one of his sons was kidnapped, the dodo hit the fan, son became mute, other sons died. Wife shot him and that's how he lost his eye. So I injected this little insight into Slade's animated character, and I (in my humble opinion) think it worked well. In the show Slade just has a velvety menace I love. What a hot voice. Goo Slade:D

Note: this story is a little (okay, VERY) ambiguous if you've never seen the end pt. II where Raven's father takes over the world and so on and so fourth.

**Spoiler warning!** If you haven't seen the reckoning or the end, this may spoil some things, or at the least, you won't really understand what's going on. Oh well. An excuse to go watch more TTs.

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The Children

_By Ansuz_

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I stare at you and you, in your turn, stare at me. How odd it would all come down to this. The end of my existence, the end of the world, and the end of preconceived ideas. Even as I make ready to take my own path, you defy my reasoning. I have led you here, fought at your side, and I come no closer to understanding you. Though I, many years your senior, should have been able to pick clean your mind within moments of laying eyes upon you. Oh Robin, what things you could have done under my apprenticeship. All wasted now.

You stand your ground, deliberating. It is a rare look for you, to be calculating something so nakedly, weapon sheathed on your belt. I find it…odd. But this day brings its own measures doesn't it? When the dead can walk without fear of death and the world burns red and empty. All wasted now.

You decide. "Will you ever change?" It seems a step back from your earlier statement. You are aware of it, how it shadows this small little olive branch. My dear boy, the world has ended. Philosophical conversation can do little to alter things. Though, by my own reasoning, how can it hurt?

I decide to answer, though I did not intend to be so honest. "I think not. Will you?" I would smile if I had the flesh to do so. To catch you off-guard gives me a petty pleasure, and villain that I am, I savour this little victory though it paints me in a small-minded light. I feel the urge laugh, but by force of habit, I suppress it. Who would know? Deep beneath the surface, in the smouldering hush of this place, such things are superfluous. I am dead and Robin will be soon.

"Maybe," you murmur and half-turn, clearly unfinished, "but there is one thing I've always meant to ask."

I tilt my head. You know I am curious, and I am, though I know I should be wary. "Ask."

"Tell me, was it because of the children that you take on apprentices?" Your face is hard but receptive. Something only a child could do; to doubt without bitterness. I am, to my own surprise, not so resilient.

"That is not a question you have any right to." I turn away, with better things to seek.

"But I've asked nonetheless."

I keep walking. "So you have," I mutter over my shoulder, but your expression stops me. "And yes, though it is not your concern. Now I have my own question—_why did you ask?_"

"It makes killing you easier, more humane." You say it all so bluntly, though you are but a child. I might have felt pity for you once, long ago, that someone so young should know such a thing.

"Does it come so easily?" I turn to face you again, curiosity greater than impatience. Yes, only a child would force me to pause in my quest for flesh and blood. "Now that you know me a little better, can you ready your staff and strike down a father to three dead children?" Ah, yes. You flinch at that. Good, dear child, it would do you well to know your place. Now you have fully received all you asked for. Nothing demanded of me comes without a price. I am what the world is.

"It didn't stop you from striking an orphan." I have hit a soft spot. A pity, in another time and in another place, I would enjoy this weakness in you. Yet the world does no man's bidding. The moment is poisoned by something in your face, something I saw long ago in someone else, both stronger and weaker than you, dear child. Someone who cost me an eye. It is disappointment and hate, mixed with something more, I think. The last time I saw such a thing, it was enough to pull the trigger of a gun. I watch, I wait. But you always defy expectation, Robin, and instead of reaching for a weapon, you merely shake your head. I have failed you somehow, though I do not know how this could be so. Who has been a better adversary than I?

Ahh, and then I understand. Experienced as I am, you have blinded me yet a second time in so many minutes. I am the man with no children and you the child with no parents. In a perfect world things would heal nicely, flawlessly. But this is no perfect world even at its best. For wounds heal wrongly, the potential for so much can lie untapped and scorned. Fathers bury sons and wives cripple husbands and those who should protect you end up letting you down. Oh dear child, if only I had the time to twist this knife with the cruelty it deserves.

"So presumptuous, Robin, so _soft_ a thought." I straighten and look towards the towering doors behind me. "But I must reclaim what is owed to me." But he would not allow this victory. I knew he would not countenance such an insult.

That smirk of yours is back, so very very brittle. "I was your apprentice once, remember? I saw what you're looking for, really."

He has an uncanny way of turning me from my goals. Though no more than that, and such a thing becomes an annoyance soon enough.

At my silence your smirk disappears. "You're better then this, you know that." It looks hard for you to say such a thing, but you meet my stare unflinchingly. "So was all this worth it, Slade? Did all this power finally bring the absolution you were looking for?"

Oh, dear brutal child, you have undone me. This sort of honesty should be beyond you. I remember once, when I had taken those you loved as hostages, how pitiful you seemed. How utterly defenceless you became when your affections were brought to bear. Now, though, now child you have outmanoeuvred me yet again and I feel I am worse off, for I never anticipated such a thing still remained in me. I had willed such a thing not to remain. The small faith you have in what I might yet be is corrosive. I am revolted.

"When have I ever shown you mercy?" I ask softly. "When have I ever deserved such a label?"

"What you show and deserve is very different from what you are and want." It is a cryptic reply, too insightful for my tastes. Have I taught you too well? And, though it is unbearable my dear child, you are right. I am old enough to admit that to myself, but you seem to know it too. That is intolerable.

"When next we meet, I will show you none of the leniency I have shown here." I intended to be detached, to feel detached, but children always have a way of grounding me. It is an unpleasant experience. I sound defensive and it gives me great displeasure when you take solace in this one, small, unintended mercy. This will shape things to come, in a wholly unexpected fashion. If one can believe a future can be grasped from this end of days.

You look towards the ascending path and your footsteps are slow and without hesitation. "You won't find any with us either." You lock gazed with me for a second time, defiant as you always have been. "And whatever you're looking for now, you're going the wrong way." So simple and presumptuous you are, as every child is.

Then you are gone, devoured by the earthy shadows of this place, and suddenly that no longer matters. I turn towards my own goal, for the third and final time. I have been many things in my life, a husband and mercenary, and now I am a villain. My lot in this world is of my own choosing and I am satisfied doing what I do, inflicting what I inflict.

Ah, my dear child, but here at the end of the world you saw something I could not, and I was honest in my replies, though I did not intend to be. You have bent me, as effortlessly as you might have bent a spoon, and it is difficult to grasp my original disposition. Is it possible to be as I had been before this conversation? I look back at where you have vanished, knowing you would not be there, but staring nonetheless.

Children. It is always children. It is always you, Robin.

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So, did you like it? Please R+R and tell me what you think. This is my first TT fic, so any pointers would be much appreciated. I always like complicated characters and I think Slade and Robin both carry a lot of baggage. In the episode they're suspicious of each other, but I wanted to bring out some of the possibilities between them, while preserving that distrust. Slade came out really eerie, hopefully true to form. Enjoy it, whatever 'it' is. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: TT is not mine, and I make no money. Mmm:(

Well, it WAS going to be a one shot, but then this continuation kinda crawled its way out of my skull. I did a bit more research and (hopefully) worked out all the kinds. Enjoy!!

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It is a refreshing sensation to have my bones cloaked in living flesh again. You are searching for me but will not find me. I am but an afterthought and for once I do not mind. Raven finally turned on her sire, when it seemed to matter the least, but Trigon fell nonetheless. A world slayer conquered by adolescents. It smacks of a cruel irony. I am amused as I watch your struggle to recover, each of your comrades consumed by their own limited thoughts. You search so fiercely, but you will not find me. I am bent, but that is all. Bends can be straightened. I am not worried.

The sea is to my back. I glance over my shoulder and watch the water. I am concealed by a jagged range of debris; concrete, ash fault, and steel mangled into a small shelter. All of humanity's instruments for conquering this world effortlessly swept aside. The sun is setting and its glare intensifies upon the waves. What pain I feel is precious. Savoury, even, though that hazards upon the bizarre doesn't it? I am not a man who adorns himself with pleasant illusions. I am fortunate to emerge, mortality intact. Ah, but what an insufferable creature I must have been, even in death determined to be master of my own fate.

I look again. Your friends have gathered their wits. They stare with awe at Raven's new façade and this time, I do have the flesh to smile. You don't share their elation. I can see from here you are troubled, and I know it is my absence that troubles you. Ah, dear boy, our conversation seems to have bent us both. This is a power I have not felt for a long time. I wonder how it weakens you, to have your paternal supplement vanish. When I gather my strength, I shall see where this takes me. Such a gaping wound draws my curiosity. I have long discarded the trappings of fatherhood, but never did I discard the knowledge. For in all its forms there is power. You will expect this, clever child that you are, but I am clever too, and older and better at this game.

I am not a cruel man. Cruelty would demand some sort of passion—for blood, for conquest, for revenge. I may act cruel when I choose, but if life has taught me anything, it is emotion has a way of consuming the soul. What good would that do me, dear child? Could you answer me? I think you could. Clever boy. My power over you comes not from intelligence or ability. I feel nothing, and though you can do many things, dear child, that is one thing you can never attain. You are infinitely softer than I, predictable, vulnerable. My amusement deepens. When I finally decipher your little mind, I am certain your methods will reveal themselves. But for now, they remain a mystery. I am content with that.

Oh my. Your mystery has just cost me my ocean view. You come towards me, dear child, and I am an old man with many things yet to do. The cliff at my feet used to be sharp, but Trigon's presence has shattered it and sent debris tumbling onto the beach. Trigon has been more useful than I had anticipated. I slip off the edge, just as you round my little lair, and though I am mortal again with mortal pains and weaknesses, I land on the sand just as you peek over the cliff's edge. You hesitate when I turn away, but you follow me down without a word to your friends. Brave child.

"_Slade_." This time you draw your staff, but honour stays your hand. You are always so careful to avoid my blind side. What do you fear, child? That you would win through my weakness, or that I would not care if you tried?

"Robin." I look at you over my shoulder. "How did you find me?"

"You're bleeding."

Ah, I have become very careless in my time as an immortal. I left a trail of breadcrumbs.

"Are you surprised?"

You're scowling at me. "Almost."

I choose not to pick up the thread. Our last conversation was strange. Whatever you are searching for, you will not find it in me, though the masquerade could prove diverting. I am of the flesh now, _at last_, and with this flesh comes half-forgotten urgencies. You can have the last word, dear child. It has been a long day.

I find I am smiling again. Your silence is devastated. How unbearable it must be for you as another giant of your childhood turns away. Does the list sear your little mind? Your parents, your hero, your nemesis. No one has time for you, dear little Robin. Not even Slade. Ah, but perhaps that time is past. It is _especially_ Slade. My need for you lent me patience. Time, now, to fix that.

Anger ill-befits you, dear child. It is your anger that drives you towards me while I am still half-turned, still alert. I can see your hasty charge and its inevitable conclusion. You leap into the air, arms high and face contorted; your staff a lethal thing in your capable hands.

Child, you could have been so much.

All victory requires of me is to step aside. You are thrown off-balance, having overestimated your resources and underestimated mine. It is a rare mistake, but you are my canvas now. I draw my right arm high and deliver a back-hand that sends you face first into the sand. How ignoble you look, how unworthy of my time.

I crouch beside you. "If you had been my apprentice, dear boy, this would not be hard." You look at me, you see that I know. As always, you defy expectation and remain as you are, sprawled in the sand, anger spent. I lean a little closer, for these soul-destroying moments forged me. "You are too clever to lay yourself at my mercy, but dear boy, you will always see me as you do now." I soften my voice, intimately, as a father might whisper encouragement to his son. "Imagine my face, imagine it as you remember your own father and imagine my voice as his. Know that every pain I feel belongs to him, and that with every agony you endure, I will feel nothing for you. Not even the lowliest amusement."

I am unbent.

I stand tall and leave you to your bruised pride. Your torment does bring me some pleasure though that is not for you to know, dear child. Some wounds fester more deeply than others and I sense this is your greatest weakness. My contempt can be dealt with, but my utter indifference drives you mad and unlocks all those ghosts lurking in your closet. Are you still afraid of the dark, Robin?

You lay there sputtering into the sand. No, dear child, your demise shall be a spectacle. I will not kill you today, but I will savour this first brushstroke, and I will imagine how layered your death will be, how utterly complete my victory.

But I am of flesh, and flesh only knows need. I ignore your voice, driven by the need to restart my life, and walk softly across the beach. The surf is loud here, driving relentlessly against the rocky shoreline. It is a cacophony. Yet your voice persists, cuts through it all.

"You can't control me that easily, Slade." Your voice doesn't sound broken, but you are angry. "I know about you too, about Addie—"

"A valiant try, Robin, but this contest does not suit you." I stop and glance back. You are on your knees, nothing humble in your gaze or posture. Defiant child, defiant _brilliant_ child, and you could have been my apprentice. What a waste. "This was the day the world was to end. I have better things to do than fight. But remember, Robin, tomorrow there will be no such courtesy." Again you have pushed me off balance. I am beginning to resent you for this ability. You know you have surprised me. Though not for the right reasons, I think, maudlin creature that you are.

I am not in the habit of forgetting things. But when you said _her_ name, indeed it took effort to recall a face that matched. It is odd to hear her name on someone else's tongue. Addie is not merely dead, she is long dead. My wife, my sons, my daughter, my military career, my powers. I find it difficult to recall them and the weight of time quickly drags them back into the darkness. I suppose it does not matter though it does provide food for thought. Dear child, you seek weakness in me, but this tactic is double-edged. For it reveals your desperation to find it.

Though it means a delay I face you a second time. It is a stoic gesture but I know you will believe it impulsive. "How?"

My composure annoys you. "The HIVE archives. They called her The Mistress." You are standing now, staff in hand, studying me. "Rose wasn't mentioned."

Ahh, Rose. A by-product of my frivolous youth. It amuses me to look back and see the man I had been. In Thailand of all places, having wild flings with displaced refugees and playing the roguish hero. My laughter surprises you, as well it should. Learn your place, dear child. They are nothing but a passing entertainment now.

"Did you think that would matter, Robin?" Your seeking expression scrapes against my back, and standing or kneeling I have scored a victory. "If you persist you will be going back on your word. You said nothing would change. Were you lying, dear boy?"

"No, I could've said more and you know it." You've sheathed your staff in your belt and now it is you who turns away. "And she's alive, somewhere, if that matters at all. Think about that when you want another apprentice."

Galling brat, to say such a thing.

"Consider it payment for your help." You look at me without malice. No, dear child, I can see your understanding. You have outmanoeuvred me again.

And then you are scaling the wall, agile and capable, leaping up the ruined cliffside with an ease I can only envy. Once that would have been me.

No longer.

The sun has set, but darkness is welcoming. My blood has vanished from the sand, cleansed by the tide and carried by the sea. My flesh still hurts but the novelty has passed and it is only a hindrance. The same can be said for you, child, daring to speak in such a fashion. With sincerity of all things. Where one dent was smoothed another has been created.

You have gone and left me staring for a second time—not quite believing. There is an odd pain to our recent conversations, one I have not felt in a long time. You are the apprentice I envisioned, and you are not mine to wield. Though it is beneath me to hate you, I do, dear child. And it troubles me your death will have such significance. Crimes of passion have no place outside the pages of books, and I am too old to be embarking on yet another of life's little dramas. You are exhausting me with expectations, child.

There is, however, something to be salvaged from our second conversation. Rose is alive. I had not known that.

I am…surprised.

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This is the corrected version. Major thanks to Death Merchant! I even remember telling myself that; it's not Abbie, it's Addie. D'oh. Smacks self in face.


End file.
